


Recovery and Road Trips

by WriterGirl128



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 06, Season/Series 06, if you squint? i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-12 04:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: Every time the quantum abyss showed them memories of his father, it felt like a knife to Keith’s chest. Seeing memories of him with his mother at his side was, somehow, even worse.A collection of one-shots and drabbles that take place during/after Season 6.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Keith and Krolia angst/bonding ft. wonderful space wolf

Every time the quantum abyss showed them memories of his father, it felt like a knife to Keith’s chest.

It was bad enough to sit through it once, during his Trials. The gut-wrenching shock of seeing a man he’d long known to be dead, accompanied by some special brand of nausea that could only come from the loss of a beloved parent.

It was... horrible. Seeing his dad, in that vision. Alive and breathing, moving and seeming so real, when it had taken so long to come to terms with the truth that he’d never see him smile again, or laugh, or frown. And the ground was shaking beneath his feet, an alien battalion touching down to Earth, and he was torn between the father he’d lost and a mother he’d never known. It was like someone plunged his own Blade hilt-deep into his chest, nicked between his ribs, sharp and hot and horrible.

Seeing memories of him with his mother at his side was, somehow, even worse.

At first, the whole situation was jarring enough that Keith didn’t really—didn’t really  _react_  to what the visions were showing him. He learned that his mother had crashed down, had gotten stranded in her search for the Blue Lion. He’d learned that she’d stayed to protect it. That his father vowed to help her. That together, they nearly died defending it from the Empire.

He learned that she left to protect him.  _The_   _person_   _I_   _love_   _most_ , she’d called him. He learned that she’d never wanted to abandon him.

But that was all superficial. That was what he could take in while attempting to orient himself to this bizarre new world. There were still so many holes in the story, wide, weeping gaps that he didn’t know how to fill. Festering wounds that wouldn’t heal.

He didn’t know Krolia. That wound was ripped wide open, raw and bleeding, no matter how Keith tried to staunch it. And he’d see memories of her on Earth, and he’d see his house, and his father— _his_   _parents_ , part of his mind screamed,  _together_   _and_   _in_   _love—_ and it felt like a knife to his chest. Because he’d never known that life. And he never would.

He didn’t know Krolia.

And his father was dead.

Their house, gone.

All that was left... was Keith. Just Keith.

He refused to let Krolia see him cry.

* * *

He hadn’t realized until later that Krolia didn’t know his father had died. Part of him, the logical part, understood that there was no way she  _could’ve_  known—she’d been undercover on an infiltration mission for the better part of the past two decades, billions of light years away from Earth. There was no way for her  _to_  know.

After the memory of the funeral, Krolia had gone quiet.

Her clawed hands had curled into loose fists and she had ducked her head, averting her gaze. She never looked at him, but she did step closer, eyes shutting as she bent her head towards his. Rested her forehead on the top of his hair, carding her fingers through it for a moment in an odd show of vulnerability.

And then it was gone. It was gone and she was straightening, turning away, returning to her task of gathering firewood. As if there weren’t tears burning behind Keith’s eyes, as if there weren’t a thousand words that needed to be said, as if there wasn’t a new kind of sorrow weighing her shoulders down.

Neither of them spoke.

She cried, that night, once she’d thought Keith had fallen asleep.

Nothing more than soft, muffled, ragged breath, and Keith just dug his fingers deeper into the wolf’s fur, blinking back his own tears. Clenching his own jaw against the tremble threatening to send his teeth chattering, threatening to blow his cover.

They were still strangers to each other. Mourning the same tragedy, but mourning alone.

Neither got much sleep that night.

Neither complained in the morning.

* * *

 

The next time the quantum abyss showed them his father, the memory itself felt like a hand to Keith’s throat. Cutting off his air, harsh and sudden.

Keith remembered this.

He remembered when his father had taken him outside that night, laid a large blanket down on the hot sand of the desert and had pulled Keith to his lap. Looking up, pointing out constellations and explaining the planets’ orbits. Animated and excited, like he’d always been. Spinning tall tales about space and alien planets, colorful and vibrant, full of lush landscapes and magical creatures, while in his lap, Keith looked to the stars with eyes full of wonder.

Eyes like his mom’s, he noted internally, and it sounded like his father’s voice.  _You’ve got your mother’s eyes, kiddo._

His attention broke when Krolia’s hand looped around his wrist. Firm, with calloused, hard skin roughened by war, but almost... desperate. Holding onto him like a lifeline.

When he glanced up at her, she was watching the father-son duo with pain in her familiar eyes. Her expression would’ve been unreadable if it wasn’t for the crease between her brows, the unsteady set of her lips. She wasn’t breathing, and that hand around Keith’s throat gripped tighter.

She didn’t let go until well after the memory faded from view. Until after Keith’s hand had gone numb with static, until the visual of his father had gone blurry in his own eyes.

He refused to let Krolia see him cry.

* * *

It should’ve been easier after that, but it wasn’t.

It should’ve been easier the more that they learned, the closer they got. But it wasn’t. It was never easy. It still felt like a knife to his chest every time his father’s face flashed in front of them, every time Keith heard that kind, desert-rough drawl echo through the abyss.

The more he thought about it, he more he realized it was almost  _harder_ , with Krolia. Because instead of just dealing with his own mottled feelings, he had a grieving mother pinned to his side. A stubborn, headstrong, grieving mother. And Keith had never had a mom, before, but he certainly hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected  _her_  pain to hurt  _him_  so much.

And the closer they got, the more it hurt. Especially because it seemed she was just as emotionally stunted as he was.

Like mother, like son.

It wasn’t until about a week later that Keith told her how his father died. It took every ounce of willpower he had, but Keith sank down beside where she sat at the fire, steeled his resolve, and dove in.

They ended up talking for hours, that night. About everything. They talked about his father, they talked about the war, they talked about the Garrison. Krolia told him about the Blades and Keith told her about the Paladins. They talked about Voltron, and the Lions, and the team. He told her about Coran and Allura and Pidge and Hunk and Lance.

He told her about Shiro, who’d taken him under his wing and had been a brother to him in every way but blood. The first person who felt like family since his father died. The first person who felt like home.

His voice didn’t waver until he started explaining Kerberos.

The words died on his lips, extinguished like a fire, leaving only a choked feeling behind in his throat. Burning like smoke. He tried to swallow it back and failed, drawing his knees in closer. When his breathing turned jagged and uneven, he didn’t shake off the clawed hand that gently tugged him close. He didn’t push away the arms, long and strong, that circled his shoulders. He didn’t retreat, didn’t pull away, didn’t snap at the comfort she offered.

For the first time, he took refuge in his mother’s embrace, letting himself be cared for.

* * *

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke the next day, the makeshift blanket Krolia had woven was pulled to his chin.

The fronds scratched against his skin, itchy, but warm. His wolf—Yorak, Krolia wanted to call him— was nestled in at his feet, and when he rolled over his shoulder, his mother was still beside him. Curled on her side and sleeping, eyelids fluttering peacefully as she dreamt, pistol resting on the ground by her head.

The fire had died overnight, but that was okay. He had his mother by his side, and it was the dawn of a new day.

He shifted, pulling the woven blanket off of himself and onto Krolia. Settling back, he reached to scratch behind one of Yorak’s ears, and the wolf huffed out a sleepy sigh.

Krolia stirred at the sound, but her eyes remained shut. “Good morning, little one,” she murmured tiredly, not fully awake, and Keith allowed himself a small smile. Content.

“Morning, Mom.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally make it back to Earth. Not everyone considers it home.
> 
> We have a little over 10 hours before season 7 drops and ruins our lives, friends, so I wanted some back-to-earth Klance fluff/angst/hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s this hc floating around that Keith’s dad never introduced his family to his son, that they don’t even know Keith exists, y’know, since his mom’s an alien, and all I can think about is them getting back to Earth and everyone being surrounded by their loved ones and Keith’s just chilling with his space wolf and s7 is about to ruin everything I hold near and dear to my heart so I had to write this garbage
> 
> DIALOGUE HEAVY, sorry not sorry

Tearing himself away from his family, Lance felt worry tighten in his chest as he approached Keith. “Hey, buddy,” he began, unable to keep the grin from his face entirely because  _quiznak_ , they’re finally  _home_. “You doing okay?”

Keith looked up, fingers stilling for a second behind Yorak’s ear as he noticed his visitor. With a light smile, he resumed, and the wolf let out a content sigh beside him. “Yeah, fine—why?”

Lance shrugged, settling down to the ledge next to him. “I dunno, man, you’re just—sitting here. Alone.”

That brought a frown out of Keith, and he glanced down to Yorak again. “I mean—I have my wolf? I’m not alone.”

He rolled his eyes at that. It was such a Keith comment.  “Well yeah, mullet,” he acknowledged, “but isn’t there—I don’t know. Isn’t there someone you need to meet up with? Someone you want to celebrate with? We’re finally  _home_.”

Keith’s expression shifted from something easy to something more pensive, and he tilted his head carefully. It was odd, seeing this type of careful look on Keith’s newly scarred face. Keith, who was always so quick to follow his gut, to run on instinct and snap so easily. He hummed softly, as if in thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “I just don’t really have anyone on Earth that feels like home, I guess.”

And before Lance could swallow down  _that_  heartbreakingly-nonchalant statement, Keith was continuing on, unhindered.

“The only people I really need to celebrate with are you guys, and my mom. But she’s staying in Black with the Alteans until we break the news to the Garrison that they’re  _way behind_  on their space exploration program. As in, over ten-thousand years behind.”

And... there were almost too many pieces of that for Lance to sort through, the main ones being that Keith had essentially just called the paladins the most important people in his life, and that _Keith was simultaneously being open with him and making jokes._ Sort-of jokes. Humor-based words, at bare minimum.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Keith be so... soft? So unapologetically  _honest_. Like he could take the filters off of his words and just be himself, a new kind of peaceful confidence clinging to him like a second skin. It was a good look on him. 

A faint laugh bubbled from Lance’s chest, a bit high on life, knowing his family was an arm’s distance away, and Keith cracked a smile at him as well, which  _definitely wasn’t helping the situation at all_. 

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, comfortable, and Yorak took the opportunity to shift positions, wedging himself between the two paladins and prodding his nose under Lance’s hand until he, too, started running long fingers through his mane of soft fur. 

Yorak sighed contentedly, but as the silence pressed on, Lance’s chest grew heavy once more. His eyes flicked around the sight in front of him.

There was a cloud of laughter from where Hunk was squashed between his mom and one of his aunts, his mama crying tears of joy and snapping away at the whole scene with her camera. 

Shiro had wrapped himself around an old, small, weeping Japanese man, while a just-as-weepy woman smoothed his hair back with wrinkled fingers. Lt. Malik— _Adam_ , Lance recalled—stood off to the side, clutching at a silver chain he wore around his neck with one hand, the other tightening into a quivering fist at his side before loosening, and tightening again. 

Just beyond them, Pidge and Matt were being smothered by their mother in what appeared to be a Hunk-Garret-level bone-crushing hug, and Pidge had her face pressed into Matt’s chest, her shoulders shaking. Sam stood with them, one hand on Pidge’s back, one on Matt’s, head ducked down low.

Lance’s own family stood only a few meters away, and their excited, fast Spanish felt like home. He’d never shied away from his native tongue while on the Castleship, often muttering to himself or singing as he worked, as he flew, but it was just...  _different_. It was making use of it in fear of forgetting, of losing that part of himself, surrounded by people who wouldn’t  _understand_. It almost hadn’t felt honest, hadn’t felt real. This, though—this definitely did. 

He glanced to Keith again, whose smile had faded slightly, though he didn’t seem despondent. Just thoughtful, as his eyes scanned over the same scene ahead of them. 

Lance swallowed. He might not be an expert on the guy, but he knew Keith well enough to know that there was no bitterness there, in terms of what everyone else was experiencing. He was happy for his teammates, seeing them be reconciled with their loved ones. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was the tinge of something sad in those dumb indigo eyes that Lance couldn’t name, exactly, but felt like a brick sitting in his stomach regardless. 

“Seriously, dude,” he said softly, and his eyes scanned the scene even as Keith glanced to him. “No extended family, no cousins? No one you need to check in with?”

From the corner of his vision, Lance could see thick eyebrows drawing together in a frown, and he almost regretted bringing it up. But Keith just sighed a little, shaking his head and returning to gaze at the joy in front of them. “Nope,” he assured, and shifted slightly, folding one of his legs underneath him. “It was just me and my pop. A couple sets of foster parents after he died, but if they didn’t give a shit back then, I highly doubt they would now.” There was a pause, a beat of silence, and when Lance glanced over, that small smile was tugging on Keith’s lips again as he nodded towards the former Black Paladin. “The only other family I ever really had on Earth was Shiro.”

And while Keith seemed so okay with that, like it was just a fact of his life, the words ached in Lance’s bones, in the fabric of his very being. He didn’t pity Keith. But pitying someone and hoping they hadn’t been dealt such a shitty hand so young are two very, very different things. 

Before he could say anything, though, Keith’s expression twisted slightly. “Actually—I do have a couple of aunts, I think, and an uncle. Somewhere.”

Lance felt his eyebrows draw together. “Somewhere?” he parroted. “You  _think_?”

Keith shrugged, but his expression held a bit more of his old scowl than before. “I guess? I mean—I’ve never met them before. I don’t even think they know I exist, if I’m being honest.”

Blinking, Lance leaned forward, chest tight. “What do you—what do you mean they don’t know you  _exist_? Why not?”

Keith gave him an odd look at that, as if gauging the sincerity of the statement. Apparently seeing the genuity of Lance’s bewilderment, a bemused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It’s not like my dad could just show up one day with a  _kid_  and not expect questions about where the kid came from, sharpshooter.”

Well—sure. Fine. He had a point. That still didn’t explain why his father’s family apparently didn’t know that Keith exised. “So?” he shot back to Keith, raising his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with questions?”

That small smile grew, just a little, the scar cutting over his jaw stretching upwards, and quiznak, Keith was beautiful. Had he always been that beautiful?

“Lance,” he began, as if amused, “my mother’s an alien. A seven-and-a-half-foot-tall, bright purple alien. What do you think is wrong with questions?”

And—yeah, alright, that was a fair point too. Still, the thought of his own family not knowing he existed made a weight press down on Lance’s chest heavily. He couldn’t imagine what that must feel like.

“I thought—” Keith began, and though the words seemed heavier, the twist of his lips never faltered from that crooked smile. Everything’s a little bit easier to face in hindsight, after all. “I thought there was something wrong with me. That’s why he kept me from meeting his family.” He paused, just for a tick, and tilted his head slightly. “I guess now I know he was just trying to protect me. Protect her.”

Lance forced his expression into something more neutral, something that hopefully hid the inexplicable guilt coiling inside of him. His eyes drifted towards where the Lions stood, breaking the horizon in the distance, tall and strong and proud. “She’s nice, though,” he mused quietly, locking his gaze on the Black Lion. “Your mom. She’s kind of—weirdly intense? But nice.”

Keith was silent, at that, for a moment, and when Lance glanced over again, the smile had faded from the Black Paladin’s face. “Yeah,” he hummed, and Yorak shifted, pressing closer into Keith’s side. “She is.”

That weight grew a little heavier on his lungs, and he chewed on his bottom lip, gaze drifting forward once more. “How long was it?” he forced out, finally, the question that’s been eating at him since Keith’s miraculous return. “The time rift, I mean. How long was it, for you and Krolia?”

Because the signs of time passing were there. Keith’s hair was longer, shaggier, and his eyes were wiser. Lines of muscles, still lean and lithe, but chiseled and hardened and defined. A sharp chin and broadened shoulders, a taller frame that moved just a little bit differently, a little bit more alien than it used to—a little bit more like the graceful, predatory gait of the Galra. He was still undoubtedly Keith, but a version of himself that had been taken to the grindstone. A Blade, sharpened and deadly.

Beside him, Keith hesitated, and Lance didn’t miss the way his fingers pressed tighter into the ledge they sat on, as if clawing into the stone. “A little over two years,” he replied after a long moment, too long, the silence thrumming in Lance’s ears like a frantic heartbeat. “We think. There would be days, weeks at a time, of daylight, or sometimes it only lasted a few minutes. Most days it was hard to tell how fast time was passing.”

Lance let out a rush of breath. “Dios.” He forced his gaze back to Keith, who also let out a breath, but slower, more controlled than Lance had. Keith buried his fingers in Yorak’s fur once again, and kept his gaze on the horizon, while Lance felt his eyebrows draw together. “Are you—are you okay, Keith?”

And for a moment it felt like he hadn’t said a word, and he wondered what that must’ve been like, to be secluded like that for two years with a stranger that was his own flesh and blood. He wasn’t sure he’d be okay, if he was in Keith’s place. Not to mention everything that happened _after_ that—Romelle and the colony, and Lotor. Shiro. Not-Shiro. Stepping into the role of the Black Paladin, a title he’d been so reluctant to don in the past.

But Keith looked at him after a handful of ticks, and again, a small, almost sad smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I’m getting there,” he assured him, and some distant part of Lance knew that that meant  _no_ , he wasn’t _presently_ okay, but the sincerity in the words felt calming and sure, loosening that tightness in his chest.

He found himself offering his own small smile, and he knocked Keith’s shoulder with his own. “We missed you, mullet,” he disclosed, because while it was obvious to anyone with eyes, he wasn’t sure anyone had said as much out loud.

Keith’s smile grew, just a bit, and he knocked into Lance in return. “I missed you guys, too,” he admitted. And then, quieter, “It’s really good to be home.”

The fact that Keith was talking about them, about the _team_ , and not about Earth, made Lance’s eyes sting.

Tossing his dignity out the metaphoric window, Lance turned in his seat and pulled Keith close, throwing his arms around a strong torso and crushing Keith’s chest to his own, hooking his chin over Keith’s shoulder and holding onto him tight.

The Black Paladin had gone rigid in surprise, but after a handful of ticks, that melted away, and Lance felt strong arms wrap slowly around him in return. Hesitant hands pressing into his back, rubbing small circles that felt a lot like some tender gratitude Lance wasn’t sure he deserved.

And there was a giant cosmic space wolf wedged between them, making the positioning awkward, but they both kind of just held on, for a while, cramps be damned.

When he finally pulled back—because it didn’t seem like Keith was going to, maybe not _ever_ —there was a dangerous shine in those dumb purple eyes. Lance let out a shuddering, wet laugh as he dragged the heels of his hands across his cheeks to dry them, Keith mirroring the motion with his own choked chuckle.

“Don’t think this means anything,” Lance warned, but his voice was thick with emotion, whatever tough-guy facade he was attempting to pull falling flat. “We’re still rivals, and I still think your hair is stupid. This is just—Red Paladin duties. Covering all the right-hand man basics.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his voice when he shoved Lance lightly with a mumbled, “Oh, piss off.”

Lance cracked a grin at that, about to respond with something horrible and flirty like _“Why don’t you make me?_ ” when a voice called his name from off to his left, startling him from the moment.

It was his big brother Marco, beaming at Lance like he was the best sight in the world, and it made Lance’s chest lurch painfully in both guilt and joy. “Come on, hermanito,” he breathed, jogging closer to where he and Keith sat, reaching out to ruffle Lance’s hair fondly. Lance made and indignant noise, trying to flatten it out again, and Marco merely grinned wider. “We gotta go. Mamá wants to get you home - it’s gonna rain soon, and we have to be up early tomorrow for that meeting with the Garrison.”

It was only then that Marco seemed to notice Keith, and then Yorak, in turn.

He jumped away with widened eyes. “Is that a wolf?!” he yelped, and raised a shaking hand to gesture at Yorak.

“A space wolf,” Lance corrected, grinning once more as he hopped down from the ledge. He gave Yorak’s chin a final scratch, and the wolf lifted his head to watch Lance with those large, golden eyes before pushing himself up properly and littering his face with kisses.

Marco blinked, stunned, as Lance laughed and tried to push the overgrown alien dog away. “A really needy space wolf,” he laughed, turning his face away from the offending, scratchy tongue. “Basically a giant cosmic dog. He’s harmless.”

“Not harmless,” Keith muttered to him, a knowing glint in his eyes, and Marco’s gaze flitted to his, still wide-eyed. “I mean,” he backtracked, “not harmless to evil aliens. But to us, sure.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Keith.”

“Marco,” his brother muttered, almost absentmindedly, taking Keith’s outstretched hand before blinking at the Black Paladin. “Wait—Keith? Keith  _Kogane_ , from the Garrison?” Marco’s gaze shot back to Lance’s, and warning lights flashed in Lance’s brain.

“Yes,” he affirmed quickly, even though Marco’s face had split into an ungodly, Cheshire Cat grin, “Keith Kogane, from the Garrison. Pilot of the Black Lion, Garrison dropout, yada yada. He’s happy to meet you. Can you go tell Mamá I’ll be ready in a minute  _rightnowpleaseandthankyouMarco_.”

Not giving him a chance to respond, Lance turned Marco bodily by the shoulders, fingers tight in warning as they dig into his brother’s clavicles. He pushed him away, and Marco’s shoulders shook under his hands as he stifled his laughter. Lance dragged him away from the Black Paladin.

Once out of earshot, Marco turned his head to the side to regard Lance knowingly. “Looks like he could kill you in his sleep, kind of mysterious, a helluva pilot if I remember correctly. And he’s pretty cute. Just your type, little Lancito.”

“ _Cállate_ , Marco. Just—for the sake of my sanity, please stop  _talking_.”

Marco, the bastard, just offered him a raised eyebrow and another laugh before peeling away towards the crowd of his family once again.

Lance let out a breath, willing the flushed heat in his face to fade away, but turned back to Keith regardless, stalking back towards where he sat.

Yorak perked up as he approached again, tail thumping happily, and Lance sighed as he smoothed back his soft fur. He stayed silent, a heavy weight in his stomach as he wrapped his mind around the fact that he was about to leave. He was about to go home, to eat dinner with his family, his big, bustling, loving family, and Keith would... still be here, Yorak by his side in solidarity, but ultimately  _alone_.

He cleared his throat, eyebrows drawing together. “You can come with us,” he said suddenly, and he winced as Keith looked up at him again, and then the words came out in a rush. “I just mean—if you don’t have... somewhere to go, I mean. I know you were just living in that little shack before we left—not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously, I just. I love that shack, that shack was great, right? So great. But if you need to—like? I don’t know. If you want. You can. You can come home. With me. So you’re not—”

— _alone_ , his mind supplied, but he didn’t dare say it out loud.

Keith looked... overwhelmed. He watched Lance with wide eyes and a relaxed jaw, swallowing audibly as his eyebrows drew together slightly. “Lance?”

Lance took in a shuddering breath. “I’m just saying—Mamá makes a mean picadillo, and I have like a thousand siblings, so we definitely know how to share?”

Keith blinked at him, as if trying to keep up with Lance’s words, and for a brief moment, Lance considered if maybe he’d reverted to Spanish unintentionally with his nerves. It would certainly explain why Keith looked like he hadn’t followed a word he’d said.

But then Keith was smiling a little and ducking his head. “My mom—”

“She can come, too,” Lance hurried to assure, and when Keith looked up at him again, there was gratefulness in those purple eyes, surrounded by a gleam more apologetic.

“Lance, go spend some time with your family,” he said gently. “You deserve it. You, of all people, deserve it.”

And maybe he was a little disappointed that Keith’s words seemed like a poorly disguised  _no thank you,_ but he tried not to take that personally. “What are you gonna do?”

Keith took in a breath, long and slow and deliberate, before letting it out with a small shrug. “Spend some time with Krolia, I guess.”

Unable to help himself, Lance raised an eyebrow. “What, two years on the back of a space whale and then God knows how many consecutive months in Black together wasn’t enough bonding time for you?”

As soon as the words left, he regretted them, because—dios, the guy hadn’t met his mother until he was _nineteen years old_. That’s nineteen years of bonding time he never had. Time he’d never even had the  _opportunity_  to have. He had every right to want to spend time with her—it doesn’t matter how much they’d been forced together over the past few years.

Lance really should work on holding his internal monologue, y’know, _inside_ —instead of just blurting out every thought that comes to mind.

But Keith smiled a little, snorting through his nose, clearly not taking offense to Lance’s less-than-tactful jab. “No, that was more than plenty,” he acknowledged, “it’s just—”

And when Keith’s voice faltered, Lance felt about a thousand times worse.

Keith hesitated before continuing, smile flickering. “Coming back to Earth is a lot for her,” he confided, quieter. “Especially now that Dad’s gone. She tries to hide it, but I can tell it’s getting to her. I think I should... be there, you know? I think I need to be there for her.”

And that—well, there was something about that that made pride blossom in Lance’s chest, washing away all of that guilt because quiznak, this was the same guy that had admitted to pushing people away before they got too close. The same guy who was quick to let his emotions get the best of him, who lived his life as a live wire, a grenade with the pin pulled, ready to blow. The same guy who was so terrified of rejection, of failing the people he loved, that he turned his back on the team and set out into the universe alone.

“Besides,” Keith went on, dropping his gaze slightly and rubbing at the back of his neck. “You deserve to get some time away from all this, you know? Away from Voltron, and the Galra, and the war. Just... to be with your family.”

Lance stepped closer, eyebrows drawing together for a tick before he could find the words. “But you’re family, too,” he said, and Keith’s head snapped up so quickly Lance was sure he’d have whiplash. His eyes were wide and impossibly dark, and if Lance didn’t know any better he’d swear that was a flush of pink crawling leisurely up his neck. Lance ignored the way his heart skipped a beat. “I mean, you have to understand that by now, yeah? You, me, Shiro and Hunk and Pidge—the Alteans. We’re all family. A weird, great space family. Voltron is more than just a _team._ ”

Keith, for a moment, just opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. There was an odd unsteadiness to it, and before it could turn into something worse, Lance reached for him, wrapping his fingers around Keith’s shoulder.

“Look, man,” he continued, before Keith had the chance to form any actual words. “Take some time with your mom. Do what you gotta do. But when you two get tired of sharing that tiny little shack with fleabag over there, my door is always open. Mi casa es su casa, and all that.”

And then Keith was pulling him into a hug and—yeah, that was something Lance never really saw coming. And Keith held him close, tightly, and Lance felt himself melt into the touch, his body flooding with warmth.

“Yorak doesn’t have _fleas_ ,” Keith grumbled into Lance’s shoulder, and Lance laughed, body catching up to what his brain had already processed and returning the embrace just as tightly, just as fiercely.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, samurai,” he teased, but didn’t let go. Neither did Keith.  Lance tightened his hold, shaking his head slightly as he sobered up. “Seriously, Keith,” he murmured, softer. “You may not have anybody on Earth to celebrate with, but you have us. You have a family.”

Keith let out something like a sigh, still pressed into Lance’s shoulder, and the exhale tickled on Lance’s neck. “Yeah,” he hummed in agreement, “yeah, I do.”

And somehow, the steadiness in his words lifted that choking weight from his chest, and Lance could breathe again.

The odd, vulnerable moment lasted only a handful of ticks longer before Keith gave one final squeeze, pulling away reluctantly. “Your parents are waiting for you,” he reminded, and nodded over Lance’s shoulder. Lance turned to follow his gaze, Keith’s voice gentle and sure even as Lance’s focus shifted to his family, animated and lively as he remembered them to be, lingering just out of earshot. “Go home, sharpshooter. See your family. Get some rest.”

The warmth in Lance’s chest only grew, and he forced a grin, if only to hide the fact that his eyes were stinging again at the prospect. “Yes sir,” he agreed, still not looking at Keith. “Whatever you say, oh fearless leader.”

And when he risked a glance sideways, Keith was smiling again, exasperated as he rolled his eyes. “Idiot.”

Lance’s grin grew, and he bumped Keith’s shoulder, because the jab was more fond than sharp and Lance has always been a sucker for that stupid smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Keith bumped him back, for the second time this conversation, and dios, pre-Voltron Lance would never believe it. Would never believe that Keith Kogane, resident loner hothead and all-around edgelord, was really just an awkwardly soft, compassionate guy, willing to offer endearing shoulder bumps for assurance and comfort. It almost didn’t feel real, that this version of Keith existed behind all those prickly traps and thick, steel-plated walls.

“Yeah,” he was agreeing, “see you tomorrow. And—Lance?”

The Red Paladin blinked, coming back to himself to look into wide, sincere violet eyes.

“I... thanks.”

There was a catch in his voice, and Lance would’ve lingered on it more, lingered on the possibilities of what he had wanted to say, but there was a pink dusting on Keith’s cheeks again and he was beautiful.

“Thank you,” he repeated, and Lance again had to force himself to be present in the world, despite the way he felt warm under Keith’s gaze.

He found himself grinning again, a wave of appreciation washing over him in the form of tight lungs and burning eyes. He squeezed Keith’s shoulder, pressing it back. “Anytime, samurai,” he assured, hoping Keith could hear his sincerity, and raised an eyebrow, because that feeling in his gut was making him nervous and it was so much easier to fall back on easy humor. “Just doing my job, after all. You know how it is, from one right-hand-man to another.”

But Keith, he knew, was smart. He might’ve gotten away with that kind of deflection in Keith’s absence, but he should’ve known better than to expect the Paladin-turned-Blade-turned-Paladin to let that fly. “No,” he denied adamantly, watching Lance as he shook his head at the words. “No, you don’t help because it’s your job, you help because you _care_. There’s a difference.” Then he softened a bit again, eyebrows drawing together. “You’re a good person, Lance. Don’t sell yourself short like that.”

And—wow, alright. That was a sappier response than he’d been mentally prepared for.

Before he could stammer our something stupid and mortifying, his neck already warm around the his collar, Keith was pressing him forward once again. “Go home,” he repeated, and though Lance couldn’t see his face anymore, he could hear the smile in his voice. “Take a shower. Eat something that doesn’t taste like chalk flavored jello. Get some sleep.”

Lance dug his heels into the ground. “Keith—”

“That’s an order,” Keith cut him off, sounding stern and far too much like Shiro, but it was kind of… hot? Asserting his authority, giving orders, pulling rank? “I need you on your A-game for the meeting tomorrow. My right-hand man, right?”

_Yikes_. He needed to go home. He needed to go home right now.

“Yes sir,” he obliged with a nod, hoping his cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt when he turned to glance at the other Paladin. “Remember what I said though, yeah? Door’s open. Alien mom and space dog welcome.”

Keith smiled, flashing those pretty white teeth, scar crinkling as he ducked his head. “Yeah, Lance. I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

Lance turned away to hide his persistent flush, shaking his head as he crossed towards where his family waited, already loading themselves into the trams provided by the Garrison. “Adios, dearest mullet,” he called over his shoulder, “try not to piss anyone off before that meeting tomorrow, okay? God knows that’s your specialty.”

Behind him, Keith just laughed, and it might’ve been the best sound Lance has ever heard. “Oh, piss off.”

Lance still didn’t turn around, but the grin lingered on his face as he mimed a dutiful, two-fingered salute above his head.

The gravelly sand crunched under his feet, warmth beating down on his sun-starved skin as he drew closer to the tram, heart reaching for not only his blood family, but his found one as well.

They were _home._ They were finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a couple ongoing projects that I'm working on BUT I've been feeling more inspired for smaller, drabble-y types of things, little ficlets and whatnot, so I figured I'll dump 'em here while getting my shit straight for my other fics (*cough cough Fortunate Son cough cough*) (there will be an update for that soon though I promise)
> 
> I'm also open to taking prompts or requests if y'all have anything in mind that you might want! As always, comments and kudos are welcome and appreciated :)
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr: bitchin-lewis.tumblr.com


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